


Shopping Spree

by 1adyDebonair



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: #FrUk, #arthur kirkland, #boku hetalia, #francis bonnefoy, #francis you asshat, #funny, #hetalia, #no fucking swearing guys, #shopping trip AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 10:17:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6799741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1adyDebonair/pseuds/1adyDebonair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shopping AU where Arthur goes shopping, but runs into an interesting problem...</p><p>“Bonjour? Ceci est Francis Bonnefoy . Qui est-ce?”  </p><p>“You fucking toad!” Arthur hissed. “You fucking delusional, high matinence, French piece of shit!”</p><p>Francis chuckled on the other end. “Bonjour à vous, aussi, Angleterre.”</p><p>“Don’t you bloody ‘Angleterre’ me!” The Brit roared into the Blackberry, earning him terrified looks from passerbyers. “Do you even realise what you have done?”</p><p>“I do many things, cher.” Arthur could practically hear the smirk in his lover’s tone. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”</p><p>Arthur could feel his blood pressure rising. “You took my fucking credit card, and used up all the money! Now, when I need to buy things, my card is fucking denied, and it’s all your fault!” He spat venomously. “And now, there was this long ass line behind me, and I’ve got to sit here like a fucking dog until I find out a way to pay for all this shit I wanted to buy.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shopping Spree

“Hm...Well, regardless of whatever that frog says, I think leather is definitely hot on me.” The Brit smirked, modelling in front of the mirror. His sleek, black leather pants shone slightly in the florescent lights when he swung his hips. “Yes, I’m getting these babies.” And with that, he stripped off the trousers. Once he was dressed in his original clothes, the dirty blonde grabbed his huge pile of creamy silk, velvet, leather, and cotton clothing and made his way over to the cash register for checkout. 

Arthur Kirkland had arrived at the mall no less than two hours ago to update his wardrobe. His boyfriend, Francis Bonnefoy, had utterly insisted that he came with, but Arthur threatened to kill him with a Louis Vuitton scarf should he even dare. The Brit was in no mood for an all day shopping extrava-fucking-ganza with the Frenchman. Arthur would rather eat fire than shop with the fashion obsessed frog. You see, Arthur can get his shopping done in approximately three hours, briskly trying on clothes and getting down the business. With Francis, however, it was an all-day affair complete with a fucking runway showing of the outfit he picked out for the Brit, followed by intense scrutiny and criticism. That alone took close to an hour. It was so bloody draining and time consuming that Arthur didn’t want anything to do with Francis and a mall if he could help it. 

And here he is. In a mall, buying and trying on clothes without the help of his fashionista of a lover. Whatever. Arthur strutted happily towards the check-out lanes before dumping all his contents on one lucky cashier. She was a skittish lady, jumping slightly whenever the scanner would bleep loudly over the barcodes. Her platinum blonde hair was a cloud on her head, but despite these aged looks, she appeared quite young. Early twenties at most. Arthur’s eyes softened, and flashed a calming smile at the girl in attempt to soothe the woman’s nerves. 

“T-That’ll be $550.75, sir.” She asked, hesitantly meeting his eyes.

“No problem, love. Got a card right here.” Arthur got out his credit card with a flourish, and set it in her waiting hands. 

Nearly dropping the card, the lady slid it through the mouth of the credit swiper. She frowned slightly, and began to type rapidly on her mini keyboard.

Arthur waited patiently, glancing down at his nails. They were screaming to be re-done, the noir nail polish horribly chipped and his nails itself were at uneven lengths. He was mulling over nearby places to get them ‘did’, as Alfred put it, when the cashier interrupted his thoughts. 

“We’re sorry, sir, but it seems your credit card has been denied.” The shopkeeper tittered nervously, shyly handing the Brit his card back. 

Arthur blinked in shock. “Wait, what? My card has been denied?” He chuckled a bit, and handed it back. “Try again, dearie. I’m sure that’s not the case; I just put a few thousand dollars on it weeks ago.”

“I can try, I guess.” The cashier sighed doubtfully, and rang it all up again. Arthur was starting to get really anxious; the line behind him was growing with impatient shoppers just wanting to get home. The brit could hear the sighs and grumbles as the lady painstakingly checked all his clothes out again. 

“Denied again, sir.” She handed the card back again, apologetic. 

“Impossible.” Arthur whispered, flushing in embarrassment. “I just put over three thousand dollars on this fucking piece of plastic, how can it be denied?!” The lady flinched at his escalating tone, and raised her hand to stop him from yelling. 

“If you have any other cards, I can ring those up. They might work.” The cashier turned the screen to face Arthur. She tapped the bright red box that screamed denied where the transaction total price should have been. “But I’ve rang that card up twice. There’s no denying that it’s denied.”

“Ring it up again!” Arthur demanded, now thoroughly humiliated. “There is no fucking explanation as to how three thousand fucking dollars could not be seen on this card.” 

The lady sighed wearily but did as he said. 

Arthur tapped his foot nervously, biting his lip. His fingers itched for a cigarette, but that wouldn’t help his situation at all. The Brit had literally just put money on that damn card. There was no way that it could all be gone within two weeks. Hell, normally Arthur used cash, but Francis the Fuckboy convinced him to get a credit card, practically moaning over how much easier it was rather than counting out money. 

“Denied, sir. I’ve tried this card ten ways to Sunday.” She announced timidly. 

Arthur could not fucking believe this. “Do it eleven ways, then.” He challenged more so out of anger of his situation than actual rational. 

“Do you have any other cards?” The cashier tried.

“I. Don’t. Have. Any. Other. Bloody. Cards.” He hissed, unable to keep his cool. The lady drew back instantly, then let out another annoying sigh. 

“Then please step aside so I can help these other customers. Maybe you can phone a friend to help you pay for these items? Or we can just take them away, s-sir.” She stammered. She nodded to the next customer, who sighed in relief. 

Arthur had no choice but to step to the side as she began ringing their things up. He cursed Francis for showing him that stupid fucking card, cursed him for teasing him incessantly about his clothes, which sparked this little shopping rendevous in the first place, and cursed the fucking Frenchman--

Cue lightbulb.

“Fuck all kinds of duck.” Arthur gasped, whipping out his phone. Now he remembered. Francis had asked to borrow his card last week, claiming to “just buy a few beauty products”. While doubtful, Arthur let him borrow it anyway, because he’s a good boyfriend. 

_ “ _ _ Bonjour? Ceci est Francis Bonnefoy . Qui est-ce?”   _

“You fucking toad!” Arthur hissed. “You fucking delusional, high matinence, _ French _ piece of shit!”

Francis chuckled on the other end.  _ “Bonjour à vous, aussi, Angleterre.” _

“Don’t you bloody ‘Angleterre’ me!” The Brit roared into the Blackberry, earning him terrified looks from passerbyers. “Do you even realise what you have done?”

_ “I do many things, cher.” _ Arthur could practically hear the smirk in his lover’s tone.  _ “You’re going to have to be more specific than that.” _

Arthur could feel his blood pressure rising. “You took my fucking credit card, and used up all the money! Now, when I need to buy things, my card is fucking denied, and it’s all your fault!” He spat venomously. “And now, there was this long ass line behind me, and I’ve got to sit here like a fucking dog until I find out a way to pay for all this shit I wanted to buy.”

_ “Ah…”  _ The Frenchman murmured. Shuffling could be hear on the line.  _ “And what do you want me to do about that, mon amour?” _

If Arthur was angry before, he was practically foaming at the mouth now. His eyes were livid slits, and every word was a knife that shot out of his mouth, aiming to kill. “You know what, Francis, dear? Let’s play a little game. I’ll explain it to you, and I’ll use little words so you’ll be sure to understand me through that horribly thick, fucking skull you own. Are you listening, love?”

_ “Oui, oui, mon dieu, you’re cute when you´re angry, mon cher…”  _ Francis laughed, and then exhaled. It sounded as if he were smoking. Arthur suddenly cursed the man with lung cancer. 

¨Keep up the nonchalant attitude and I´m going to get fucking adorable!¨ The punk-clad Brit snapped. How could the man be so cool about the situation?! He switched to a sickenly sweet tone. ¨So, the game is really quite simple. I´m going to think of a number between zero and three thousand. You have to guess the highest number I could possibly be thinking of. Ready?¨

¨ _ Sure, Angleterre.”  _ Francis rolled his eyes. Not that Arthur could even see the action. _ ¨I´m going to guess the ah, obvious here and say three thousand.¨ _

¨Wow, you are so intelligent.¨ Arthur applauded sarcastically. ¨So now, you are probably wondering what the significance of that number, three thousand, has anything to do with this problem I´m having.¨ He spoke to Francis as an exasperated adult would to their child.

¨ _ Oui, what is the problem?” _

“Three thousand dollars. That is the amount that I put on this fucking credit card and now it is all gone.” The Brit growled. “And I remember this one time I let you borrow my card, because you wanted to go buy some shit, and  _ you spent three thousand fucking dollars in one go?! _ \--”

“-- _ Ah, um, Angleterre, I suddenly have to go to a world meeting!--”  _ Francis scrambled to get off the phone, really not wanting to have this conversation right now with an absolutely livid Brit. Perhaps he’ll have this conversation with a drink in Arthur’s hands and preferably a few countries worth of space between them.

_ “DON’T YOU DARE HANG UP ON ME, FRANCIS BONNEFOY!”  _ Arthur roared, making the cashier lady jump up in her seat. He took a deep breath, his tone a velvety hiss. “Now, then. What was so bloody important that you had to spend three thousand fucking dollars? It better have been worth it.”

“.....” The frenchman muttered an answer that Arthur couldn’t decipher. 

“What was that?” The Brit asked sweetly. “Couldn’t quite catch that, love.”

_ “I said, I bought a 70-inch, plasma screen T.V.” _ Francis snapped back. Then he cooled almost immediately.  _ “With netflix.” _

Arthur was speechless. “You did bloody what?” 

_ “J’ai dit--” _

“I heard what you fucking said!” Arthur hissed again. “BUT WHY WOULD YOU BUY ANOTHER FUCKING TELLY WHEN WE HAVE THREE AT HOME?!”

Francis paled and didn’t answer. 

“Francis. Fucking. Bonnefoy. You are five seconds away from being a single man!” Arthur yelled into the phone. “What on earth possessed you to buy another fucking televison? Don’t tell me you bought it just for the netflix.”

_ “Well, if I did that, I’d be lying to you--” _

“FRANCIS.--”

_ “Okay, okay! Well, I went to the mall that day, and while shopping, I was torn between either the 70 inch, plasma screen T.V or a gently used guillotine at a reasonable price for--” _

“GENTLY USED GUILLOTINE?!--”

_ “--Don’t interrupt me, mon amour! And so, the guy selling the two items gave me a whopping deal--” _

“WHAT THE HELL WOULD YOU EVEN DO WITH A GENTLY USED GUILLOTINE?! I THOUGHT THAT WAS A FUCKING PHASE--”

_ “And he put in Netflix with the T.V, and so I just had to buy it--” _

“OH, FOR THE LOVE OF--”

_ “--And that’s how I spent three thousand dollars in one day.”  _ Francis grinned. 

Arthur was silent for a long time. 

“Francis?”

_ “Oui, mon amour?”  _

“You have an hour to get your FUCKING ASS OVER HERE AND PAY FOR MY THINGS BEFORE I BLOODY USE THAT GUILLOTINE ON YOU!”

Arthur hung up the phone in the middle of Francis’s screams. Great. Now he had an hour to kill. Well, he might as well check out that guillotine while he waits….


End file.
